Black Market Villains

Chapter 3 - Zero

From atop the roof I can see all the action. The guards standing by the door, unmoving, while Tank and Grenade hide behind a crate a safe distance away. I watch the whole flash grenade fiasco with a sense of impervious superiority.  Those idiots nearly killed themselves with that grenade, then lost their minds while insulting each other. How am I supposed to work with them?  They don't even need an opponent to nearly get themselves killed!  Now the guards were coming there way without the threat of the grenade. Grenade knew little to nothing about fighting and Tank was too far away to help her in time. I was their only hope.

The Star Wars theme starts to play in the back of my mind, but I shake it off and focus.  

Sadly, she was standing in the way of my target.  As much as I would like to shoot her between the eyes, it wouldn't be beneficial to our mission.  I had to get her to move, so I shouted, "Get down, Grenade!"

She hit the deck.

My sniper rifle should do the trick. Looking through the telescope, I positioned the gun so that the bullet would land somewhere between his eyes and pulled the trigger. Bull's eye.

He fell before the other guards could react to the bang. While the guards were still reeling from the unanticipated fatality, Tank grabs Grenade's wrist and drags her to a new hiding place.

I grin darkly as I pick off the guards, one by one.  Easy targets.  I take out about half of them before they gain some common sense and take refuge behind a mountain of crates.

Seeing that none of the guards are moving anytime soon, I run along the ledge and jump to the one behind a stack of crates to get a better angle. The guards were still frantically looking around for the shooter, but I was crouching between the crates and the wall, making it near impossible for them to see me. In their confusion, I shot almost all of them before the few remaining guards found refuge behind a wall of crates.

Once they were gone, I twist a hidden dial on the side of the gun, disguised by the embellishments.  The gun shrinks into a smaller - but equally deadly - pistol, which I slip into my holster.

Gun secured, I hopped down the short distance to the closest crate. I then scaled the next few levels of boxes and met the other two at the bottom.

"Thanks would be appreciated," I purr.  "I did just save your sorry asses, you know."

Grenade sticks out her tongue at me.  She pulls back her jacket, revealing her t-shirt.  Of course, Grenade would find the most childish and offensive shirt possible: a middle finger.

Tank asks the obvious question.  "Why the hell is your shirt a middle finger?"

Grenade shrugs, grin betraying her emotions.  "I got so tired of flipping people off that I just got a t-shirt."

Tank facepalms, then facepalms again with the other hand.

I sigh heavily.  "I should have just shot you, too," I mutter under my breath.

"Anyway," Tank says loudly, trying to change the subject.  "We should probably get rid of those guards before they get backup."

For once, we can agree on something.  Grenade draws a namesake explosive from her pocket, tossing it from hand to hand.  Tank curls her hands into fists, resuming her fighting stance.  And I pull my pistol from my holster, transform it into a AK47, and get ready to kick.  Some.  Ass.

I spin on my heel as I begin my trek through the maze of boxes.  Those cowardly guards are hiding in a pile of boxes, I'm sure.  The only way to find them is to flush them out - like pheasants from tall grass.

Hunting people is always the most fun.

I chuckle to myself as I scour the warehouse for any signs of the guards.  At long last, I hear the sound of quiet wheezing.  I turn the corner and immediately spot a guard lying helpless on the ground.  It seemed my rifle had been slightly off-point, allowing for a more drawn-out - and but more funl - death.  He was raspily breathing, gasping in shock and pain as his lifeblood escaped from the hole in his chest.  His breathing quickens when he notices me staring down at him.

I grin.  My prey has nowhere to run.

"Please," he gasps.  "Spare me."  I whisper silkily, "As much as I would like to let you live..."  My tone changes abruptly as I continue, deepening in pitch as my voice nears a growl. "Why the hell shouldn't I kill you?"

The guard gulps.  He stutters, "T-the others left me.  I d-don't know where they went, but I can p-point you in their direction."  He looks up at me, hope flaring in his dark eyes.

I smirk.  "Of course," I purr, "Tell me where your friends went."

He feebly points down a dark passage, one that I had checked up-and-down.  I had even shot off a few bullets to test for a reaction.

"Liar," I hiss.  All the saccharine sweet has bled dry, leaving the fiery rasp of an enraged predator.

I lift my gun.  The guard, fearing for his life, attempts to scramble away, but he has lost too much blood.  He feebly scratches at the ground, aching for the hope that has deserted him.

I press the muzzle of the gun on his chest, right where his bullet wound is.  He gasps at the contact, eyes watering in both fear and pain.  I take it as a challenge, pressing down harder.  His breathing becomes desperate as the blood waterfalls from his wound, staining his shirt and coating the muzzle of my gun.

I push down even harder, pressing the gun into his chest with all of my strength.  I can hear something crack - whether it's a rib or his spirit, I'll never know.  Blood pools around him as he blubbers and flails like a fish out of water.  Red bubbles from his lips as he chokes, the liquid pouring from the edges of his mouth.  With his last breath, he murmurs a final plea.  In response, I stomp on his chest, forcing the last air from his lungs.  Gore and saliva burst from his gaping mouth, splattering the ground around him with the last of his lifeblood.

His eyes, at long last, turn glassy, looking past me as his spirit drifts from his still-cooling body, leaving it to the dirt and worms.

I pick up my gun, leaving the bloodstained corpse as crowfood.  I wipe the muzzle on the side of the crate, smearing the blood up the sides of my gun.  I sigh, annoyed, but it's not the end of the world.  It adds to my fear factor, after all.

Behind me, I hear a gag. I turn around to see Tank with a pale face and a hand over her mouth. How much of that did she see?

Holding back laughter, I ask "What?"